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TRƆTRƆ - Kwadwo Kwarteng

It shivers and shakesquivers and quakessqueaking, creaking, shrieking.It tumbles and rumbles,albeit mumbles and grumblesfrom passengers on thistles and brambleswith whose lives it gambles.Going on safari,short cut through an alley –it takes them on a Dakar Rally.Driver and mateare subject to hate;“We are late!”is the ubiquitous state.The mate, short of changeprecariously balanced, dangling strangeengages in heated verbal exchangewith tempers rising in range.At each stopbodies flip-flop like hip-hop,weary waiters wallopto join jiggly jalopy’s lop.Clothed in pealing paint and rustseats coated with dustserrated sills slicing soft skinsripping clothes off in ribbons.Clad on its back, spread‘The Lord is my Shepherd’or other words of faith to be readby fellows with little sense in the head.Prayers silently sail against a breakdownright in the middle of town,engaging demons in divine duellest there is sudden shortage of fuel.Clutching valuables from that thiefnearing home, they sigh in reliefintending to make the exit brief,shout with passion and strong beliefBus stop!